Don't You Want Me?
by justarosythorn
Summary: A cocktail waiter with a murky past and a fear of getting close. A successful theater owner with a charming way and a need to be truly known. And how they each got far more than they bargained for. Based on the song of the same name. Klaine, o'course.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter I-

You Were Working as a Waitress in a Cocktail Bar When I Met You….

Blaine Anderson had, over the years, become a force to be reckoned with.

Perhaps not in the way you would expect a gay man who ran the theater industry of Chicago to be a force, but a force nonetheless. The entire district bowed down to him, obeyed his every request as if it were an order. This was, of course, because he was the first to be absolutely free of bitterness, which allowed him to be different. He was… _good. _In the way that theater people rarely were. He used the power of his position to accomplish a vision that was childlike in a lot of ways- that everyone was inherently good, and those who weren't could be cured by the community spirit that the theater brought. And so he named ex-convicts playwrights, actors, and stagehands. He allowed children to see shows for free. He gave unused costumes and props to the needy, that their sorry lives might be a bit better. One might've called him naïve, and you'd have been right. But he was smart. And he was beautiful in the rarest of ways. And with a certain suave something, he got whatever he wanted.

And what he wanted, when he pulled up to The Spark, was a drink. It had been, as he kept repeating in his head, the longest fucking day. He strolled into the lavender lighting, ignoring the modern, black leather décor. No one said that The Spark was a gay bar, but then, no one needed to. Blaine ignored the whistles blown in his direction as he walked, smiling apologetically at the men who smiled invitingly. He wasn't frigid- just tired. He got to the bar and threw himself on the stool, drumming his fingers on the polished wood.

"Someone needs a drink." He glanced up at the source of the voice, high pitched and velvety. A pale brunette stood, tall and slender, arms folded, grey eyes bright with irritation. That wasn't what caught Blaine's attention. Nor did the skin tight heather tee-shirt over the black and grey striped jeans that he must have had minions mold to his form. No, it was the lips- pink, plush, arousing. Blaine realized where his mind was going and pulled the reins sharply up, dragging his eyes up to the bartender's. They were expectant.

"Whiskey. Straight." His voice was strong. He patted himself on the back. Mentally.

The bartender waltzed away to make the drink, thinking to himself. He liked to make snap judgments about his patrons. Gave him something to do. This guy was well muscled, with hair sleeked back. He wore a cargo jacket over a black tee shirt and a skinny black tie. A quirky, hippie type. After a day of work. Trying a bit too hard to be hipster- probably "work" meant something artsy. Likely to be insecure, and therefore a total bitch. What the bartender failed to analyze was the fact that neither man was capable, it seemed, of not staring.

He walked back over and plunked down the whiskey. Blaine immediately shot it back, eyes open, hair refusing to slip. He let the glass twirl back onto the table with a signature disarming smile. The bartender had not seen anything like it. He found his night plans. As it always did, his father's voice echoed distantly in the back of his mind. Every time he heard it, it seemed more disappointed.

_Don't throw yourself around. Like you don't matter. 'Cause you matter, Kurt._

But, Kurt reasoned, his father, wherever he was now, would understand. Kurt needed, more than the wholeness of his heart, a place to sleep. Besides, he didn't always sleep with them. In fact, more often than not, he stopped at kissing; telling them that sleeping on it would build up the most beautiful anticipation. And if that worked, he was gone before dawn arrived.

He wasn't a whore. Was not.

But every day, he felt perilously dizzy as he considered how thin the line he danced on was.

Blaine Anderson watched him think. Mystified, he slid off the barstool and handed Kurt the proper amount of money, turning away from him.

"Wait." Blaine turned back to Kurt. "Aren't you going to attempt to get me to go home with you?" Blaine cocked an eyebrow. "I saw the way you looked at me." And Kurt licked his lips at that, an expert of manipulation. "And I get off in 10."

"Are you asking me to hit on you?"

"You make me sound disgusting." Kurt smiled encouragingly. And Blaine, who knew all there was to know about deception and ensnaring because of his craft, knew that this smile, though convincing, was faked with sugar and indifference, attraction, and even with fear. And he was right. And, he believed, there was only one reason that a man would practically ask to be picked up if he didn't want to be.

"Do you have somewhere to sleep tonight?" Kurt's expression froze and then flowed again- it was only an instant, but it was enough for Blaine to pick up on again with a tilt of his head and a knowing smile.

"I've heard that one before." Kurt mumbled weakly, shifting slightly under the weight of Blaine's eyes.

"I'm serious." Kurt could not think of anything to say to this. Blaine watched him struggle in silence until his sympathetic nature took over. "Alright, I'll wait in my car. I'm the black Lexus."

"Hey, it's not that…I'm not that easy." Blaine rolled his eyes and reached over the bar, taking his hand and bringing it to his lips, skimming them over the smooth pale skin.

"I want you for your body and your mind." He released him, turned around, and walked away, hands in pockets. Seeming to have forgotten something, he half turned back to Kurt. "And if you aren't there in ten minutes, I will come find you." He said this gently, winking- and left. But Kurt didn't doubt him for a minute.

xXxXx

The car ride was quiet- Blaine played music. Showtune after showtune was followed by indie stuff Kurt recognized as the car pulled carefully but swiftly into a spot in the parking garage. Kurt must've misjudged him- this guy wasn't as loaded as he seemed. That was until they got to the elevator, which opened immediately. Inside was all red and gold. Except for a small, elderly man in white gloves and what looked like a marching band uniform. He, upon seeing them, immediately pushed the top button.

"Hey Julius." Blaine shook the man's gloved hand. "This is Kurt." Kurt did not remember mentioning his name to this man, but then again., he didn't remember where they'd just parked. But the old man grinned at him as the lift ascended.

"Long day, Blaine?" Julius asked, turning his attention back to the darker haired man. Kurt arched an eyebrow. Blaine. It was a great name.

"The longest."

"Sleep well, then. " Julius and Blaine laughed as if sharing a private joke. Kurt wondered quickly if he should be offended. The door slid open, and they vacated with a 'g'night'. Kurt gasped.

He had expected a hallway.

What he found was sparsely decorated but a huge and cozy apartment- the penthouse. Everything was mahogany warm, practical, comfortable.

"Nice Place."

"Thank you." Silence. "Hungry?"

"No." Blaine nodded and wrapped his hand around Kurt's, pulling him away from the sitting room, past a kitchen, into a bedroom.

"So, this is where you'll be staying, and th-" But Blaine could not finish his sentence, being as he had just been pushed back onto his bed, and his lips were otherwise occupied. Kurt moved so quickly that Blaine had only the tiniest inkling how he'd gotten flat on his back, Kurt bearing down on him, kissing him hard and not silently either. Blaine's mouth was finally free as Kurt lowered himself to his neck, licking delicate and random patterns over goosefleshed skin. "So… what're you doing?" Kurt barely heard, nosing his way up until he could pull on his ear lobe with his teeth.

"You need an explanation?" he asked, satisfied as Blaine let out a small moan, unable to keep complete control.

"As good as that feels, lovely, that's not what this was about." Kurt ignored that for the moment, tracing his fingers from Blaine's knee up, up, up, until- Blaine spasmed, sucking in a deep breath. Kurt stroked his length through his jeans, chuckling.

"Oh, isn't it?"

"I want something bigger for you, Kurt."

"You really don't give yourself enough credit, Blaine." Kurt's stroking got more persistent, and Blaine's eyes slipped closed. "And you really don't have to be self-deprecating. It's cute, but I've seen it before, and we were going to fuck anyway." Blaine exhaled, and took Kurt's hands, pinning them above his head as he deftly switched their positions- and now, he hovered over Kurt, eyes sparking with something that Kurt identified as… frustration. Clouded by lust, but frustration still.

"Listen." His voice dropped to a whisper that quivered with danger, and other emotions. "I didn't bring you here to fuck you. I'd like to. Believe me. But I'm not the kind of guy who takes advantage of helpless cocktail waiters. I brought you here so you would have a bed to sleep in and breakfast in the morning. Safety." He kissed Kurt then, tenderly and kindly and comfortingly. "I won't use you. I want to help you." He got up off of the bed, and pointed to a set of double doors. "That's the closet. Help yourself. And that door leads to the Balcony. Goodnight, lovely." with that, he turned around and left, loosening his tie as he went.

Kurt had to take several minutes to process. Then he got up stiffly, and entered the closet- entered!- and found a pair of pajama pants, which he put on after sliding his jeans off. He took off his tee shirt and slipped back into the bedroom. His eyes were wide, and they shone with tears as he slipped under the covers. His thoughts were confused but the tears were not that of sadness. Someone had seen him. As a person. A person, who…needed. And the impact of it was huge as it was vast, comforting as it was frightening. And though conflict folded itself over in his heart, his sleep was dreamless and deep.

xXxXx

So hey!

I'm coming back from the fanfiction dead as a whole new writer- who I was previously… you don't want to know. But leave a review, and tell me watchoo think of my take on our favorite couple.

Be aware that this is not beta'd, so excuse my blindness to typos. If you'd like to beta, you can drop me a line about that one as well.

Thanks for reading.

P.S. I do not own Glee, or any characters thereof. I do not own the song "Don't You Want Me." I acknowledge this now and for all works/chapters to come.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter II

I Picked You Out, I Shook You Up, and Turned You Around, Turned You into Someone New…

Kurt awoke to sunlight streaming through the curtains and sat bolt upright. Shit. He'd overslept. He'd not escaped… but then he remembered where he was, and…

Did he want to escape?

He would have lied to himself if he thought that he wasn't curious about the man… fascinated by him. But that meant nothing. Nothing. He slid out of bed, swinging his feet onto the sun-warmed floor. He was wearing another man's pajama pants. He heard speaking coming from the other room. This was… strange. He walked to the door and rested his hand on the knob, hesitating. Maybe he should crawl back into the bed with sheets that smelled like wood and warmth and ink and _man, _and wait until this guy- Blaine- went off to work. But then Blaine might come in before that. So he twisted the knob, and swung the door open, padding down the hall towards his voice.

"No. _No. _I'm not doing it Kate, I don't care, I don't need it, and neither do they. I'm not- No, Kate, listen. I'm not the go-to guy anymore. I want to do something real, something meaningful, and I'll play coffee shops and be just fine. Kate. Kate! Fine, Fine, I'll find him. I just need some time. Like-" He looked up. Their eyes met. Blaine saw Kurt, shirtless, in his flannels, coif mussed, looking like he'd just been ravished. And Kurt saw Blaine, who had clearly slept on the couch- he was sitting with a blanket up to his waist, a white tee shirt on, a laptop on his lap, phone wedged between his shoulder and ear. His hair had come free of the gel, springing forward in- Kurt almost didn't believe it- a mass of jet colored curls.

"-give me a few hours." He snapped his phone shut and got up, pushing the laptop and blanket away. Kurt swallowed- he was wearing boxers, he was offering Kurt his hand, he was smiling in that disarming way, made all the more charming with his sleepiness. That was, until Kurt didn't take it, and his smile faltered. He turned and led him to the kitchen- he opened an old fashioned fridge, and took a large bowl of fruit salad, setting it on the counter and removing the saran wrap. He uncovered a plate that held crepes. "These are a bit stale, I'm afraid. They still should be good." He hopped up onto the counter and popped a strawberry into his mouth, but not before turning a coffee pot that bubbled enthusiastically to life. He noticed belatedly that Kurt had observed his every move. "Go ahead. I didn't poison the food, Scout's honor. Kurt wasn't listening- this beautiful creature looked so at home, and so preposterously kind, he was having difficulty believing. "Kurt? Talk to me, man."

"Sitting on a counter top is extremely unhygienic." He managed. Blaine threw his head back and laughed. Kurt smiled. There was a long pause in which he noted the way Blaine laughed until his breathing slowed. And when his eyes reopened, he realized that Kurt still hadn't eaten. Blaine grabbed a plate and laid down a crepe, piling it with fruit and folding it over, handing the plate to Kurt, who obediently took a bit- and then giggled around the fruit.

"What?" Blaine's brow creased. Kurt laughed harder, and Blaine waited.

"I just… I was just… god, fruit crepes… I just… I didn't think you were… _that_ gay." Blaine chuckled.

"I'm pretty gay. But in my defense, I don't pick up a lot of cocktail waiters. I just assumed…" He trailed off, smiling sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. "I am much more of a bacon and egg type of guy." Kurt giggled harder. "Hey, hey. Stop laughing at me. You're hurting my feelings." Kurt had to hold the countertop for support. Blaine squinted at him. "I hate you." Kurt's laughter subsided… slowly.

"Oh, don't be mad. I laugh because you are adorable."

"Oh yeah?" Blaine's eyebrows twitched, and Kurt's eyes widened, and his hand flew to his lips- he looked positively shocked that the words had gotten out. Blaine smirked, hopping off the counter. "I think you're adorable, too." Kurt blinked as Blaine went to the cupboard, grabbing a yellow box, twin bowls, and milk from the refrigerator. "Better?" he asked, dishing out the cheerios. Kurt nodded, smiling at the more natural breakfast. Blaine took the now hot coffee pot and a mug from the sink- Kurt cringed- and poured, knocking it back immediately, without adding cream or sugar or letting it cool. Kurt was reminded of the way he shot the whiskey last night- that's why he was here. "Coffee?" Kurt shook his head. "So. I'm guessing you are more than just a bartender." Kurt grinned.

"Making assumptions again?" Blaine was unabashed.

"Am I wrong?" Kurt shrugged at him.

"I sing. And act. Sing, mainly. But I didn't make it, so I'm a bartender." Blaine merely looked at him. "What?"

"And that's enough for you? Now?" Kurt stiffened, his eyes hardening, walls coming up as thoroughly as Blaine had previously crashed through them.

"Of course not. But you learn to live with it" Kurt said this formally, but Blaine leaned in closer.

"I'm sorry." He looked up at him through dark lashes.

"I don't want your pity. It's not like you can empathize." Kurt gestured around himself- the apartment of someone who had never wanted for money. Blaine made a face, and took another step closer.

"But you'll get it anyway, lovely. As well as an audition." As soon as the word was out of his mouth, Blaine felt Kurt tense, and they were so close that when he whirled around, he could smell his hair stirring the air as Kurt Hummel ran away from him.

He was running toward the living room, hitting the call button for the elevator, flattening himself against its door as Blaine came, hot on his heels. "You might scare Julius if you leave shirtless.' Kurt ignored this, bouncing slightly as he waited for the elevator, eyes wild. Blaine put a hand on his shoulder, and Kurt twitched away. Blaine sighed, and pressed the call button, which unlit. Kurt shoved him away with surprising force- Blaine stumbled back.

"Okay, what could I have possibly said to earn this?"

"I am _not _that kind of guy." Blaine arched an eyebrow.

"What kind of guy do you mean, exactly?" Kurt looked at him, disbelieving.

"Don't play dumb, you fucking… Don't pretend we haven't both heard this story before. Good-looking guy seduces a young bartender, takes him home. Lures him into trusting him because he is some kind of king of chastity and morality- a good guy. Even gets him breakfast the next morning. Next thing the bartender knows, he's being bent over and fucked by a guy with a shaved head and a made-up name on camera- well I'll tell you something, oil slick, I am not your boy." Blaine's eyes got wider and wider with Kurt's every word. He looked mildly affronted.

"Excuse me, but you seduced me." Kurt just glared at him- and Blaine grew more irritated. "Look. I'm sorry if you're all cold and cynical and afraid of the world, but I actually am a good guy." He grabbed a script off a near-by table. "I'm sure you're familiar with Evita. You'll read for Che. I'm going to go shower." He turned and headed for the shower, and then he did the half-turn, another thing Kurt remembered from the night before, the way he did when he looked struck by an afterthought. "And if you ever call me a king of chastity again, I will have you screaming the exact opposite in under five minutes. Got that, lovely?" His eyes sparked for a split second, and turned once again away from Kurt, who watched him go. Then, he looked down at the script in his hand.

**EVITA**

_A musical of the downfall of Argentina's rags-to-riches queen with a modern twist._

_Produced and Funded by the Anderson foundation._

_Directed by Katherine Bartlett._

_Performed and Displayed by The Idle Theme Players._

Kurt didn't allow himself to believe it. The Idle Themes _ran _Chicago. He flipped through the script- and god damn, it was Evita, line for line. It was real. This was real. He pressed the thick packet to his chest and, forgetting his perfectly honed dignity, spun about. Who the fuck was the man that had given this to him? It barely mattered anymore. This was the chance. The moment. He flipped the script open immediately, sinking down onto the leather sofa and mouthing the lines eagerly, able to grip the character and know exactly where he himself would leak through. Under his lips, Che turned into a sarcastic, lustful cynic who adored playing- before he turned cold and angry by the time he left in act two. He was very near that moment when Blaine returned, dressed in jeans a white button down rolled to the elbow under a navy tie and vest. He was smooth and long looking, although with his hair plastered down, he was a few inches shorter than Kurt. His beauty was artlike- uncommon to behold, but undeniable. Kurt felt guilt settle heavy over him, and he sighed.

"I'm sorry. For thinking that you…" he trailed off.

"Yeah, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said…" He also trailed off, and then smiled quickly. "You should get ready to go. Shower's open." Kurt nodded, and passed Blaine, who touched his hand and sent electricity up his arm. Kurt kept moving into the bathroom. He stripped off his pants and turned on the faucet, stepping into the shower. The water was instantly warm, and it relaxed his muscles, which he hadn't realized were so tense under his skin. He relaxed, allowing himself to think about things. Where he was, How he'd gotten there, Blaine, endlessly Blaine. The man was just a friend at this point. A friend who said really ridiculously flirtatious things, and whose lips he'd tasted and whose dick he'd stroked within the first hour of knowing him. Call that a complex friendship. Unbidden and tinged with shame, the memories of what he did to Blaine on the bed rose to his mind, and he inhaled big gusts of steam in an effort to calm himself. No use. He regretted doing it, but at the same time, a part of him could not feel the remorse, because it felt so fucking good, and even more amazing, it felt _right _to have his lips pressed to Blaine's, to taste his skin… Kurt shuddered and was undeniably turned on, breath catching gently in his throat. He instinctively reached for his cock, and then stopped himself.

He was a man. He had needs- but damn it, he wasn't a horny teenager anymore. He wasn't going to jack off in the shower thinking of a man he'd just met, the thought was abhorrent. But the only way his body would be discouraged was if he turned the shower to an ice cold spray. He rested his hand on the faucet. He had an audition later. Dousing himself with ice was not a good preparation technique. He banged his head against the tile wall, conflicted but already resigned. He allowed his hand to drop down his chest, feeling the fluttering of his heart and the smoothness of his stomach before he palmed himself, taking his dick slowly at first and then pumping faster. And although he tried valiantly to focus only on the sensation, his mind went automatically to the dark eyes that had flashed beneath him as he pinned Blaine to the bed and the way Blaine flipped him over, taking control naturally, albeit gently. The sound of his moans, of his gasps when Kurt's tongue found the most sensitive spots, the way he purred when he said "I'll have you screaming." Confident that he could. And he could- just the image of Blaine holding him down, demanding as Kurt's body fell, willing and heated before him… Blaine fucking him senseless, whispering "Fuck" under his breath, refusing to let Kurt climax until he obeyed and screamed his name, and then maybe…

And with that, he came, the name only whispered on the slightest breath, falling onto the back wall as his body exploded in color and sound and light- and then relaxed, his breathing loud in his ears, as loud as the pounding of the water. He moistened his lips, surprisingly dry.

xXxXx

Kurt was pulling the black and grey jeans and tee shirt, letting the fluffy towel fall away from him. Blaine knocked, forcing Kurt to consider that this man was so gentlemanly that he was asking permission to enter his own bedroom.

"Come in." Blaine did, liking down at a watch and stepping into the light. Kurt smiled at him, and Blaine returned it slightly, looking him up and down- his brow furrowed.

"One second." He walked past Kurt and took out what looked to be a form fitting black sweater- board folded. "Put this on."

"It's not a funeral." Kurt said under his breath, eyeing the wool warily, but still smiling. He took it carefully and pulled it on over the tee shirt. Blaine immediately stepped forward to straighten the sweater with efficient fingers.

"Good thing, too. They'd throw you out for those pants." Kurt laughed aloud. "Besides. I know what the director likes."

xXxXx

"I like this." Kurt felt distinct nerves that a small animal might feel when being hunted. Kurt, being Kurt, drew himself up taller. The woman who hunted him was small, but with a huge presence- dressed in a shirt dress, and oxfords as well as several beaded necklaces. "Yes. Who is he? Where did you find him? Good reader. Very good reader." Blaine was leaning against a wall, watching the blond stalk Kurt.

"I wish I knew, really." Blaine answered only the first question, grinning at Kurt over her head. "Katie, stop. You're frightening him."

"Good!" She whirled around to face Kurt again. "You'll need that fear. You'll need to turn it into passion! Now you read beautifully, all that's left is the musical portion." And she quite literally waltzed away.

Kurt chose a simple song. It didn't take long to prepare, and though it wasn't in his genre, it was in his arsenal. The part, after all, called for a subtler sound then showtunes. These are the reasons that Kurt told himself he did this song. And they were true, but they were not the whole truth.

"Something in the way the incense  
>Mingled with the smell of fear<br>Made me wonder if you even  
>Hear the same song that I hear<p>

And whilst clumsily I fumbled o'er your body  
>I tried to make you feel it<br>And I tried to make you see it through my eyes  
>Thinking to myself, "She's so amazing"<br>When I couldn't help remembering  
>The last time I thought someone was amazing<br>And I'm searching for a higher power  
>And never even knowing that by searching I was losing half my mind<br>But now I know you  
>Now I know your war<br>You don't even answer  
>You don't even try<br>You don't even see that it's tearing up your mind  
>You don't even answer<br>But you don't need an army  
>You divide and conquer<p>

Something in the way your body  
>Rose and fell with distant sighs<br>Made me wonder if you even  
>Sense the blindness in my eyes<p>

And whilst clumsily I fumbled o'er your body  
>I tried to make you feel it<br>And I tried to make you see it through my eyes  
>Thinking to myself, "She's so amazing"<br>When I couldn't help remembering  
>The last time I thought someone was amazing<br>And I'm searching for a higher power  
>And never even knowing that by searching I was losing half my mind<br>But now I know you  
>Now I know your war<br>You don't even answer  
>You don't even try<br>You don't even see that it's tearing up your mind  
>You don't even answer<br>But you don't need an army  
>You divide and conquer<p>

Could it be I'm wrong  
>Can I be the man I need to be without your silent stare<br>And that sin in your smile  
>Oh, could it be I'm right<br>Should I swallow up the night and let the floodgates open wide  
>To reveal all I want<br>And reveal all I fear I am

La-da-da...

You divide and conquer  
>And I am such a sucker<br>And look out now it's over…"

Blaine hadn't a thought in his head- nothing. There was nothing but Kurt. And then came Kate's applause.

"Wonderful. Okay. So I don't normally do this, but you're good and we are desperate and I'd like to discuss pay. We have several things to offer- our salary is generally good, unless you want to board here, and then it's not quite double minimum wage…" And Kate whisked Kurt away from Blaine, who watched him go.

xXxXx

Okay you guys! I got such a warm reception from chapter one that I decided to get this one going. So I hope I have not let anyone down- and please drop me a line, as always, with your thoughts. Thank you!

Oh, and for those of you who are curious, this looks like it is going to be 17 chapters, tentatively.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter III

Now Five Years Later On You've Got the World at Your Feet.

Part One.

It felt like Kurt had conquered the world in five years.

Really, it was five months.

That was all it took for someone like Kurt. It came as a surprise to everyone- except Blaine.

But honestly, it took a lot to surprise Blaine.

They shad conversations sometimes, and the times they spoke in depth were little landmarks, little highlights of the time. The first had been only a week after Kurt got the audition. Kurt was still wearing the pants.

xXxXx

Blaine arched his eyebrow as Kurt sat down across from him.

"I remember you had a penchant for them." He wore the striped pants under a light looking pea coat and over knee high lace up boots.

"I did. I do. You look good." And he did, Blaine noted. He looked… cleaner, less pale, the dark circles under his eyes had faded. He looked even more well kempt when Blaine had found him. Kurt twinkled at him.

"As do you. But then, with you, it's not as much of a shocker." Blaine smiled and winked as the waiter brought the coffee he'd ordered. But he filed away for later use Kurt's self-deprecation. It riled in a peculiar way.

"Got you a latte." He said, taking up his own mug, warming his hands against it. Kurt murmured what might have been 'perfect', but Blaine couldn't tell. He was more concerned with the way his lips brushed along the warm porcelain, tongue feathering out just enough to check the temperature of the beverage. Blaine's eyes darkened marginally.

"Blaine?" Kurt asked, still looking down at his coffee, oblivious to the look on his companion's face. "I- I wanted to talk to you…" And unexpectedly, roses bloomed on Kurt's pale cheeks, and every unchivalrous thought flew from Kurt's head.

"Anything. We can talk about anything. How can I help you?" Kurt looked up at him, eyes pained.

"I don't think we should… should be together." Blaine's eyes slung wide, and Kurt held his gaze determinedly.

"Kurt. I know that. "Kurt's eyes flickered in something like surprise. Blaine suppressed a smile at that. "I don't… I don't want to be the reason you succeed. I want what you do to be all your own- not with people thinking, "Oh, they are together, I'd better hire his boyfriend."

Kurt stared.

"They have to hire you because you are gifted. And you're gifted, Kurt." Kurt just looked at the man. The beautiful, able curled, bright eyed, warm bodied man. Who sat before him, refusing to Richard Gere him. It was enough to make a weaker boy cry in conflicting emotion. Kurt, however, merely nodded his understanding.

"That's exactly what I was thinking, was hoping you'd say." Blaine smiled at him. "One question, though." Blaine's smile flickered ever so slightly.

"Would they really do that?"

"Do what?"

"Hire me because of you." Blaine shrugged, face relaxing.

"Probably." Kurt cocked an eyebrow, shifting in his seat.

"Who are you?"

"Blaine Anderson." The name rang a distant Bell. Kurt couldn't place it. But then the thought about the surname, that he'd never known until this moment- once again, it echoed distantly in his memory.

"Right." He said, quietly.

"Hey." Blaine said, equally quiet. "If there is ever a time that you feel like you can stand on your own…"

"I know." Kurt said, quickly.

"I want you." Blaine said it with a nonchalance that made it seem more meaningful and honest then if he had said it boldly… as if he were stating an all-too-obvious fact.

It effectively reduced Kurt to a stuttering child.

"You… I… Blaine!" Kurt gave himself a slow, sarcastic mental applause for his eloquence.

Blaine laughed openly. "You look so surprised. Don't be." When he saw that in saying this, he wasn't helping Kurt to relax, he changed tact. "Drink your coffee, sugar. It'll be alright." Kurt gulped down an awkward mouthful. "Don't worry. I won't mention it in day-to-day conversation… anymore. Though, I doubt I'll get the chance. Kate is a slave driver. Kurt nodded.

"This I know. I was required to memorize all of act one without blocking by… yesterday."

"Fuck."

"I know."

"I'm tired just hearing about this." Kurt laughed.

"Oh yes. That must be so difficult for you. I have no idea how hard it must be- after all, experiencing it can't possibly compete with _hearing _it." Blaine grinned cockily and took a sip from his coffee.

"Hey." Kurt said, struck by a sudden thought. "Don't- don't wait for me, okay?" Blaine looked at him. He waited for Kurt to continue. The younger man grabbed a napkin and wiped his saucer where his latte had splattered, a nervous action. "I mean, you should… date. Men. I don't want to feel like the reason you're alone." Blaine's eye sparkled with mischief as he pressed the back of his hand to his forehead.

"But how can you ask me to do something so horrid and unimaginable- to date! I don't know if I can bear it." Kurt glared at him. Blaine was not immune.

"I was trying to be the good guy." He twitched his eyebrows. "You can't even let me have that." Blaine smiled apologetically.

"Nope. Looks like I have a monopoly on the good guy market." A waitress slipped into the boys' bubble and Blaine took the leather folder with contained the check, pushed a bill that was already in his hand inside, and handed it back to her. "Keep the change." He winked at her, and Kurt watched her scurry into the kitchen, presumably to jump up and down in girlish exultation. He felt a stab of instinctual hatred, mingled with the fervent hope that Blaine would never ever wink at him. The effects seemed to be devastating.

xXxXx

"And rest. Okay. Dancers, you're good to go home. Descamisados, you too. Eva, Che, we are going to start the waltz. Rach, dear, you can take off the wig, I don't think we need you blond. And we've only been doing individual stuff, so you too haven't met yet, am I right? Kurt Hummel, this is-"

But the wig came off and no sooner had he seen the plethora of dark hair than a pair of arms encircled his neck, and the familiar scent that enveloped him knocked him back to his high school years. He didn't even have to look at the girl in his arms.

"Rachel Berry. I should have fucking known." And he hugged her hard. Rachel giggled and then bounced out of his arms, holding him at arm's-length. Her eyebrows folded immediately.

"You don't look as I remember you, sweetheart." Kurt rolled his eyes.

"I'm recovering from a performer's death. Just getting back in the game. You, on the other hand, look great- how did you get here?"

"I was touring with phantom- I had a really minor part, so I was free to audition for thing, and when we landed in Chicago, this was the first call I got. I've been living in a hotel since some idiot already took the dorm above the theater-" Kurt raised his hand, chuckling.

"Guilty." Rachel actually clapped.

"Oh, this is amazing! We should room together!" At the expression on his face, she began gesturing frantically. "No, listen! My salary will go down, but yours will go up, because we're both living there, and we can split the cost of food, and you can give me fashion advice and we can talk about boys… Don't you see? The universe put Kurt Hummel and Rachel Berry together again! You need a girlfriend. I need a sassy gay friend." Kurt might've been offended, but he found himself smiling in spite of himself. "Please, Kurt?" Kurt opened his mouth, but Rachel spoke over him. "Think about it. During the dance rehearsal. And after, if you want, we can go talk to the owner." Kurt nodded, and Rachel beamed at him. Kate, who had gotten bored of their conversation, had gone off to talk to the lighting designer, and was now returning.

"Finally, you two. Let's go. Just speak the song while you are learning the dance, and lord help you right now if you don't have dance shoes. Where's Kevin? KEVIN?" as Kate called for the choreographer, Kurt smiled to himself. Rachel would get her way, as Rachel always had. And he couldn't even be mad, really. He was looking forward to not feeling so alone.

After the rehearsal was over, Kurt allowed Rachel to drag him through the theater- The way she knew, and he didn't, until they arrived at a door that had a set of initials painted directly on the wood. B.A. Kurt didn't have time to meditate on this detail, however, because Rachel had pushed said door open.

There were several things that had caught Kurt's attention. The first was how thoroughly the walls were decorated with posters of shows or bands, framed tee shirts, and the like. The next thing was a girl, standing, arms out, bodice being wrenched closed by a man who was on the phone, speaking loudly. "No, I don't care if you take a fermata. I really don't, right now- licensing? God damn, I wrote it! Just tell whoever asks that you have express permission… well, send them up. I don't… Okay. Right. Yes, I'll be down to tune it in-" for the first time, Blaine's eyes flickered up from the strings he was pulling tight and knotting, meeting Kurt's, who looked surprised but still managed to arc a sarcastic brow. "…fifteen minutes." He held the knot work on the bodice together in one hand and too his phone from between his ear and shoulder, clicking it off. His hair was slicked back again. Kurt was reminded of the time he'd called him "oil slick." Blaine completed the bow and turned the girl around with deft and gentle hands. "Now go down and tell Stella that if your corset is tied any other way, it is wrong. You don't have to change out of your jeans, but at least put the wig and character shoes on. And then tell the cast to do trust falls till I get down there…. Shit, after I tune the… Okay… twenty minutes. Twenty minutes of trust falls. Don't bruise. Christ." He laughed, and the girl smiled and nodded, scurrying away. Rachel stepped forward.

"Mr. Anderson, I'm a huge fan. Huge. I mean, you inspire me, and I've seen all of your tours, I have your album, too, god…" Blaine was cutting her off courteously and suddenly, Kurt's jaw dropped.

Anderson was a pretty common name. But Blaine wasn't. And Kurt hadn't recognized it. Kurt hadn't even recognized his face, because up close, he looked different, warmer, his good looks were far subtler. But that didn't excuse the fact that for two whole months, Kurt hadn't put it together.

Blaine was famous.

He was known as Theater's new, hip, young voice. He was a wunderkind, according to the media, he had led more shows than any actor his age, he put out albums of music… he was known as an eligible bachelor, Hollywood's hottest, sought after by men and women.

Kurt was dumbfounded.

He was not used to being taken off guard.

"So his salary would, naturally, go up, since mine would go down, and we would-"

"How on earth do you know each other?" Blaine asked, eyes on Rachel.

"We went to high school together. Best friends." Blaine blinked.

"What a coincidence. Okay, I see no reason not to allow it."

"Thank you." She beamed at Blaine and turned. "Well, we'll leave you to it." Kurt moved stiffly as if to follow.

"Kurt. Stay for a minute?" The brunette between them mouthed "I'll be upstairs" at Kurt, which he guessed to mean the apartment. She flew out of the room.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked immediately, acknowledging, as was his wont, the elephant in the room.

"Tell you what?" Blaine asked, looking generally confused.

"That you're _that _Blaine Anderson." Blaine chuckled.

"I wasn't aware that there was another one. And I kind of assumed you knew." Kurt looked at him skeptically. "Okay, fine. I was going to tell you up until you put the fear of Merlin in me with that shove when I told you I had an audition for you. I thought you were going to accuse me of being a John, or something, I had no idea how you were going to react." Kurt cocked an eyebrow at him.

"Seriously?"

"You are scary when you want to be, Kurt. And have a tendency toward the dramatic. It's fascinating but lethal combination." Kurt shrugged.

"Probably should be mad at you for that. And for not being straightforward with me." Kurt said, although the emotions he called upon he couldn't find. Blaine shrugged.

"You can if you like. Seems a bit more validating then evidence to the contrary." Kurt nodded.

"Does anything change?"

"Not really." Blaine's eyes suddenly seemed tense, as if weight had been pushed onto his shoulders. "We should still see other people for the time being… which means…" He stuck out his hand, which Kurt took- they shook firmly.

"Friends." Kurt said, grinning.

They both ignored the fluttering sparks.

xXxXx

Colgate. Trident. Aquafresh. Crest. Aim? Toothpaste had weird names. Blaine picked up the Crest and dropped it in his basket. He turned and walked down the aisle and into the next, looking for razors. A very familiar form was already there. Blaine smiled as he took him in. Kurt stood, long and tall in surprisingly ragged clothing. Blaine had adjusted to the fact that Kurt, on a meager salary was somehow able to deck himself out in the way no one had ever known. But now he was wearing skinny jeans and a sweat shirt with "Evita" printed across the front. Stranger still, he was glaring at a shelf of feminine razors, and had earbuds in and playing so loud that Blaine could hear but not distinguish the tune from where he stood.

He ambled over and plucked one from the ear he was closer to, putting it in his own. Kurt jerked up, and then rolled his eyes at the sight of Blaine. He opened his mouth to speak, and rolled his eyes at the sight of Blaine. He shushed him, listening.

"Hit Me With Your Best Shot? Really?" Kurt yanked the buds out of both of their ears and tucked them away.

"It's a powerful anthem. Go away."

"You use women's razors?" Kurt turned his glare on him and Blaine quite literally took a step back.

"They are for Rachel. As is the chocolate, and the magazines, and the tampons." Blaine quirked his eyebrows.

"You honestly don't seem like the lackey type."

"There isn't much worse than Rachel Berry on her period. One thing that is, however, is Eva Peron on her period. And the only thing that trumps the both of those is Rachel Berry playing Eva Peron while both are on their respective periods. I am putting out fires, here."

"Duly noted." Kurt turned away from him, so much stress pouring off of him, it was almost visible.

"As long as you're here, do you know what kind of razors I'm supposed to get?" Blaine shrugged, thinking.

"I would get the kind with the lotion. If circumstances really are so dire."

"Genius. And now I can blame you if that's wrong." He muttered, plucking the box off the shelf and dropping it in the basket and turning back to Blaine.

"Fair enough."

"So, you make fun of me for my basket, you man's man?" Blaine looked down at the contents of his own basket. Ramen noodles, toothpaste, hair gel, and condoms. He smirked back up at Kurt.

"I think I'm just the picture of a thoroughly responsible modern man." Kurt rolled his eyes.

"On the contrary, too much… sodium is bad for your heart." And then, Kurt mentally slapped himself for this gleaming, spectacular repartee. _Sodium. _

"Luckily," he drawled, "I have a very steady heart." Kurt looked down, attempting to hide a grin, and looked up again.

"I thought you weren't going to say that kind of thing in public."

"About my heart health?"

"You are so _funny._"

"I can't seem to help it. All I can talk about when I around you is my heart health, it seems." Kurt nodded, understanding the feeling and the statement as he looked back on their conversations as of late. The tension was something that was no longer entirely enjoyable. It was nice. But it could also be bulky and unmanageable, bigger than both of them, and it was difficult to get normal, everyday tasks done. Like blocking rehearsals while Blaine was watching, or passing each other on the stairs. They both so wanted to be friends.

"Only one thing for it, I guess. We have to break the tension. So." He pointed down at the box of condoms. "Who are you fucking?" Blaine blinked in surprise, and then laughed outright.

"No one that important. Just…"

"Some guy?" Kurt finished for him. Blaine nodded. "You walking back to the theater? I wanna hear this one." Kurt asked, moving to pay. Blaine nodded, apparently struck dumb by the quick change.

He waited for Kurt to pay and then paid himself. Kurt dangled the plastic bag from his wrist, both hands tucked in a pocket of the sweatshirt. The word "adorable" flew into his mind and then he banished it. Kurt was trying to fix their inability to be normal friends, and he wasn't going to ruin it by thinking things like that about Kurt, no matter how true. They fell in step together.

"Is he hot?" Blaine made a little guttural noise, and let his head fall back in appreciation.

"Damn, boy. Describe." Kurt's voice betrayed nothing but interest for his friend.

"He's tall. Really muscular. Long hair- I've always had a thing for long hair." Kurt ran his hand through his medium, well styled coif, but otherwise said nothing. Blaine didn't notice. "Perpetual five o 'clock shadow." Kurt wrinkled his nose. Facial hair? Really? "And his eyes…" Kurt waited, but Blaine didn't finish.

"Oh my god. Did you forget the color of his eyes?" Blaine was watching their feet sheepishly. "Oh my GOD! Blaine, I was joking, do you actually- what the _hell _ is wrong with you? I actually feel sorry for this boy." Blaine colored.

"It's honestly not like that." Kurt looked at him.

"What's it like, then?" Blaine seemed to squirm.

"It's… physical."

Blaine looked at him.

"I can feel your judgment. It stings."

"Not my fault you're a slut." Blaine shoved his shoulder playfully with his own.

"That was so uncalled for. And just plain mean, actually."

"So you aren't a slut." Kurt said skeptically, straightening his sleeve where Blaine had nudged him.

"No. I'm a man. I have needs." Blaine looked sheepish again. "Very powerful needs." Kurt laughed.

"You've never been this shy about sex before, babe." Blaine rolled his eyes.

"You're incredible, you know that?"

"Mmm. So it isn't true love?" Blaine shook his head, smiling. "Why not?"

That one pulled Blaine up short. He didn't know why he didn't love Jonathan. He was everything Blaine wanted. Smart. Easy going. Had a beautiful laugh. Was comfortable in jeans and looked damn good in a suit. But…

"I don't know why I don't love him." Kurt raised his palms sky-ward.

"Can't force what you don't feel."

"That's the thing, though. I do feel it. We have chemistry."

"He gets you off?" Kurt tried to clarify, genuinely confused.

"No. I mean- _chemistry. _Like sparks. It's fun. I like being with him, but there really isn't…"

"Dimension."

"Exactly."

"You aren't head over heels."

"No." Kurt looked at him.

"Then you have to be very clear about what you're there for. Sex. And make sure that he wants that too, and that it's all he wants. No strings, because some day you'll find a man who can make you moan and gives you the fairytale love." He watched Blaine's face. It hardened at the very end of his speech.

"What?" he asked, a little defensively.

"Doesn't exist."

"What doesn't?"

"The fairy tale. Love is flawed. It only ends in pain. Especially for guys like me." Kurt actually stopped walking. Blaine stopped and waited for Kurt to start back up again.

That did not make sense. Blaine, who'd called him cynical, who was famous for his charity, who let a bartender into his apartment without knowing him, trusting implicitly that he wouldn't scamper away with his possessions while Blaine slept. Blaine who was naïve. Blaine who saw the best in everyone- didn't believe in love.

The tables had turned rather alarmingly.

"Kurt." Blaine caught his attention. They were at the theater, and Kurt watched dazedly as Blaine turned to face him, clapping him on the shoulder, thanking him for talking, promising to see him soon, was going, was gone.

Kurt felt like weeping for this man who lived without love. And on another, selfish, small level, which the sensitive part of him rebuked and resented, he felt like weeping for himself.

Kurt broke down the tension for the most part. Talking about love and sex in a different context then their own odd one had helped- But Blaine finished it all on his own, had, in a few words, slammed himself permanently into the friend zone. Kurt deserved love. And Blaine couldn't give him that. And maybe it was easier that way. Maybe it was easier, because now he could have Blaine as a friend. Because even with the deal they'd struck, there was hope, promise, even. When there was a resounding "no," the only promise was that if he followed his cock or his heart instead of his head, he would only be broken again.

xXxXx

Okay, this chapter has been a total bitch. I was originally going to put together all five scenes, but they are taking so long to churn out, because the boys are being stubborn and the background doesn't always come easy, and hargblah. I'm also kind of sheepish about bringing Rachel back, because I don't want this to get sitcom-y, or typical. So, I have a lot of reservations about how this will be received, but I'm going to release it now, rather than beating a dead horse.

Also, I hope the xs for page breaks clear up any confusion. Chapters one and two have been redone with the xs, because it was originally confusing, I know.

Thanks for sticking with me!


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter IV

Now Five Years Later On You've Got the World at Your Feet…

Part Two.

Opening night- well, opening day- started with Rachel on top of Kurt, bouncing.

"Kurt! It's the… my… _our _big day! Get up! Up!" Kurt stretched like a cat in the sun and batted the girl away. Rachel popped up again, resting her chin on the end of Kurt's mattress. "Come on. We have miles of girlie things to do before we hit the stage tonight."

"One of those things involves sleeping, right?"

"No." Kurt sat up, pulling his sleep mask off.

"Then I'm not going." He sniped, contradicting himself as he slunk out of bed.

"C'mon. We'll go out to breakfast and then we have an appointment at Amia." The name of the salon woke Kurt up.

"I can't afford that, Rachel. Neither can you." Rachel rolled her eyes in that cheerful way that irritated Kurt this early in the morning, and really for most of the day, if he was being quite honest.

"The theater is paying for it, obviously."

_Oh Blaine, you didn't. _It had been two months since the drugstore incident, and he and Blaine had fallen into an easy friendship. The other day, Blaine had teased him about his affinity for skin care, and Kurt teased right back about his crazy traditions when it came to theater. Kurt wouldn't be the least surprised if this had stemmed from that. And it wasn't that Blaine had a special preference to him- Blaine had bought Rachel ridiculously expensive character shoes just last week, because the ones she had were practically falling off her feet.

"On Kate's order, apparently." Kurt exhaled. "Maybe it was an apology for being such a bitch this week." Kurt chuckled. He couldn't hate Rachel for too long. Even in the morning.

"More like she wants her stars in top form." Rachel laughed.

"Oh, come on. She's sweet. Just a director." Kurt took off his pajama shirt, and replaced it with a black tee shirt, knowing showering would be a waste, because he was in a day of polishing at the salon.

"Whatever you say, hun." Rachel twinkled at him and turned to the magazine rack by her bed and took the one on top, burying her nose in the one on top, allowing Kurt the little privacy available in their one room dorm. A kitchen in the corner with a north-facing window, a tiny bathroom on the other side. In the main room, instead of a sofa, there were two beds across from each other, shelves everywhere, and a coffee table in the middle. Kurt changed into a pair of bright white pants and cleared his throat loudly when he was ready. He allowed himself to be pulled down the hatch in the floor and the several flights of stairs and into the bright morning light.

They went to a creperie, where Rachel would not eat anything involving dairy or lemon, severely limiting the options. Kurt settled for dark chocolate and strawberry, unable to think of anything but Blaine and the morning in his white, warm kitchen when he called him adorable.

Rachel led him to the spa, and through several relaxing procedures, all of which went well, excepting of course when Rachel said something about sleeping with a dancer that made Kurt sit bolt upright, hot stones falling off his chest, and ask rather loudly if everyone was having gratuitous sex except him.

Rachel blushed.

They went home and Kurt slept until six pm. Upon waking, he pulled on black skinny jeans, black converse, and the Che Guevara tee shirt the producer bought him, as well as a leather vest. He felt hideously underdressed, but costume was costume. Rachel wasn't fluttering about as he changed, which led him to believe that she was downstairs, already in costuming. He left his hair sleep-tousled, splashed his face, and headed downstairs, nobly allowing the girls in make-up to attack him.

xXxXx

Blaine waited in the green room, straightening his cuffs. Most of the chorus was there, and a few of the main actors. Rachel was getting into character very seriously- she looked almost child-like, trying to mask her joy. A dancer was looking at her as if he had hit that. Well, whatever helps her get in character.

And there was Kurt.

From nowhere, he appeared, emanating Che. He held himself at different angles, his hair was in artful disarray, his skin seemed to radiate light, and he looked at Blaine through lined eyes.

He hadn't seen that particular look since he'd been underneath Kurt all those nights ago.

"Kurt!" Someone called his name, and thee sexuality that his portrayal of Che called for melted away, and Blaine breathed again. Saved by the bell- he had taught himself not to think about Kurt that way, because they finally figured it out. For two months, they had been firmly friends. Nothing more, and certainly nothing less. Blaine couldn't help the way he saw Kurt sometimes, though.

Kurt had blended back into the crowd which swirled around Blaine. Which was probably a good thing, because Kate was bustling toward him, her face painted with the mixture of pride and irritated worry that every director knows.

"It's time, Blaine." She said, shoving him toward the chair at the front of the room. He obeyed and stepped up onto it, adjusting his tie. The room fell quiet slowly. Blaine addressed the cast.

"I always say a little something before each opening night. It's tradition, and though I'm honored to do it, I don't think tonight is the night for tradition. What you have done here defies convention, tradition, and expectation. I'm proud. Proud and humbled. And moved. Break a leg. You all will be wonderful." Blaine hopped down to grateful applause.

And then Kate screamed "places" and the room went into chaos.

Blaine slipped out, walking quickly to the main theater as the first notes of the overture played. He took his seat, not too close to the front, but not too far either, as, when the overture softened, the voices over the sound system began. Everything seemed to be thrumming as the chorus sang from behind the curtain, and then Kurt's voice was there and he was moving sinuously down the aisle and toward the stage, and he was beautiful and perfect and _Kurt_.

Not Che.

Kurt.

Of course, Kurt being Kurt, the performance was still spectacular. But he didn't put on the character. And Blaine knew immediately that he was the only one who recognized it. His voice was perfect. He didn't necessarily need to act like Che, because Kurt was born for this role, and everyone in the audience liked him. But the performance jarred no one.

When the theater lights came up during intermission, Blaine was already out of his seat. He ran back stage, through the green room, wading through the green room and its sea of back-patting and excited whooping. He burst into Kurt's dressing room. The pale man was pacing frantically. Blaine shut the door, locked it, and grabbed his wrists. Kurt looked panicked.

"Kurt, Kurt. Look at me. You're fine."

"I'm not though! I lost it! It's gone!"

"Shh." Kurt fell into dry sobs, leaning on Blaine's shoulder. _Oh my god, he's having a panic attack._

"I…. I'm letting them all down!" Blaine shook his head, rocking the man he held, and cast his eyes skyward, looking for help. No one answered. Well, fuck.

"Come here. Come here." Blaine pulled him down onto a nearby chair and kneeled before him, not releasing his hands.

"Blaine…. Blaine…"

"Kurt, I need you to look at me. Kurt."

"It's opening night and I can't even… God… I can't do it!"

"Kurt." And at the sound of his name in that voice, Kurt was able to focus on Blaine, hooking his sanity in those hazel eyes.

"Kurt. I was the only one who noticed anything was wrong. And that's because I know you, and I've been doing this for a long time. I promise. We have under ten minutes before you have to do act two. I need you to calm down and tell you what's wrong."

Kurt's sobbing subsided and gave way to trembling.

Maybe it was a bad idea. Maybe he would pay for it later. Maybe Kurt would hate him for breaking their careful, unspoken rules. But his friend was in pain.

Kurt was in pain.

Blaine pulled him off the chair, catching him gently, and nestling him into the circle of his arms.

Kurt was all long and lean muscle, thin arms and legs. Blaine wasn't _that _much shorter, but quite a bit more muscular. Their bodies shouldn't have fit together. Kurt shouldn't have been able to nuzzle into the crook of Blaine's shoulder. Blaine shouldn't have been able to rub comforting circles over his back. They shouldn't have fit together perfectly.

They did.

Kurt's shuddering slowed.

"Kurt, please…" he needed to know.

"All of a sudden, it was too real. I made Che so… so sexual and Evita is about a whore who works her way up in the world and I… When I was a bartender, I didn't have anywhere to sleep unless I went… I went home with someone, and I was… I was practically a whore."

"No. No you weren't. You were just desperate."

"I was! I slept with… god- and I would have slept with you if you weren't such a gentleman and Christ, you must think I…"

"Shh. You don't have to explain it to me. You're beautiful, I know you aren't-"

"And my father always told me that sex would do things to me, change my… my heart" Blaine couldn't say anything because throat was tight and his eyes were flooded. "And I didn't listen because I needed to sleep somewhere, and might as well, anyway, not like it mattered, not like I made it." Blaine swallowed the tears and held him harder.

"Listen to me. Listen. You are going to be fine. I promise. I will see to it." This poor, broken boy. And the fucking city that did it to him. Blaine cursed it over and over, cursed every man that took advantage of Kurt, cursed everything. Blaine pulled back very slightly to look him in the eye."Kurt, lovely." Kurt's eyes flicked at Blaine's pet name for him. "You don't have to do this. You don't have to go back out there. But you _can. _I know you can." Kurt pulled in a breath.

"You're wrong. I won't let what I did in the past ruin my future." Blaine smiled at him, and folded him into his embrace again.

"How you know those things I still can't figure out is beyond me." Kurt made a small 'Mmm' noise, which Blaine assumed was good. He looked at his watch. Four minutes.

God-fucking-damn it.

Blaine pulled Kurt to his feet, simultaneously pulling him toward the vanity. He grabbed a damp towelette and carefully patted his hot tears away, cooling his warm skin and wiping away the black tracks that his eyeliner had made. He tossed the wipe at the trashcan, it landed on the rim. He rolled his eyes, but he thought he saw Kurt smile. He took next a French looking powder puff, and applied a delicate layer of powder to Kurt's face, and combed his fingers through his hair where it had gotten matted. Kurt giggled. Blaine's gaze fell on the last item on the vanity. The eyeliner. He looked so alarmed that Kurt laughed out right and picked up the stick himself, leaning down to watch in the mirror as he swiped the pencil around his eyes. He straightened, and looked at Blaine, who grinned.

"You look perfect, of course." Kurt rolled his eyes. "Seriously. You can do this. Take your passion, everything you feel right now, use it to your advantage." Kurt nodded.

"Thank you. I can never thank you enough for this." He said, embarrassment starting to color his tone.

"Don't, Kurt. Don't think about it that way." He straightened Kurt's vest a little. "Just go out there and blow them away."

As if to emphasize this, there was a pounding on the door.

"WHAT THE _FUCK_ ARE YOU PLAYING AT, KURT?" Kate's voice screeched into the warmth of the moment. Blaine checked his watch a third time.

Thirty seconds. He looked up at Kurt.

"Run." Kurt didn't hesitate. He wrenched the door open and flew from the room, a half-crazed Kate on his heels. Blaine took off after them, running out of the door and back to the main theater… a long run that involved stairs. He burst in just in time to see Kurt enter, right on cue. Someone hissed at him to sit down. He found his seat, stumbling slightly, and panting apologies into the dark.

Kurt played the second act perfectly. No one noticed the smudge in his eyeliner, or the small place where the powder couldn't cover blotchy redness. All they saw was the passion.

And this time, they were jarred.

There were four calls for encore that night. One was for Rachel, and she gave her rendition of "Don't Cry For Me Argentina" to tumultuous applause. The other three were all for Kurt, who smiled and waved, answered a few catcalls and questions, and of course, sang. Blaine would not have been surprised in the slightest if they carried him out on their shoulders.

Kurt waved goodbye finally, and the lights in the theater went up.

"Baby, how the hell did you get powder all over that beautiful suit?"

Blaine jumped. He'd forgotten that he wasn't here alone. How had he forgotten?

And then he looked down. Sure enough, white powder was scattered down his front. He brushed away, still blinking at the turn of events. When he looked up, Jonathan was smiling at him and taking his hand, leaning to whisper in his ear.

"You still look really fucking hot tonight." As he said it, chilling Blaine's spine, a camera flashed. The shot would most definitely hit the newsstands by morning.

Well, terrific.

xXxXx

Kurt felt faint.

He barely remembered last night, after Blaine had pulled him rather together. His second act performance, the encores, the after-party- they were all fuzzy, although he was sure he hadn't drank anything aside from water and a cherry coke all night.

Rachel was sleeping, although Kurt had been piddling about the apartment for an hour. She looked so blissful, he couldn't wake her. Instead, he toasted a bagel from the dozen Kate had sent up, and put on a pot of coffee. He laid a napkin beside it and scrawled on it with his curly shorthand.

_Lox, Cream Cheese, Butter in the fridge._

_Going downstairs to practice the "Oh What a Circus" Routine. Nearly fell on my ass last night._

_Relax. You deserve it. _

_K._

Kurt sat down on his bed, tying his converse back on under worn down jeans and a tank, his designated dance clothes, which the choreographer had assigned. Dancing in jeans sucked, but since he had to dance in skinny jeans during the show, he'd adjusted. He put the buds of his ipod in and set "Oh What A Circus" on repeat, letting the music move his body as he made his way to the stage.

He smiled as he recalled Blaine hijacking his ipod at the drugstore, and thought about the events that followed. Maybe he'd decided too soon, closing Blaine off as a possibility. He said he didn't believe in love. But a man as gentle and kind as the one who had picked him up last night could be taught. And, Kurt thought, blushing- he would probably enjoy teaching.

So it was with a lighter heart that Kurt reached the stage, and lost himself in the familiar steps. One, two , three, four and one and two and three. And repeat. He didn't know how long it was before his name was called. He stumbled back a bit, his attention called mid-step.

Kate was walking down the aisle toward the stage. Three people trailed behind her. Kurt didn't recognize them. He pulled out the earphones and draped them over his shoulder, sitting on the edge of the stage.

"Hey, Kate."

Kate flicked her hand as if dismissing his greeting.

"These people are the ones The Morning Star sent over for you. I know you can do this by yourself, But I'll be listening." Kurt looked baffled. She sat in the middle seat in the front row, clearly listening, as promised. The three people surrounded Kurt. A polished woman with a determined set to her face and a pencil behind her ear whipped out a smart phone, tapping it a few times and laying it next to Kurt, who looked down. It was recording.

"Annie Cosgrove, Morning Star. It's a pleasure." She said it in a way that led Kurt suspect he meant that it was a pleasure for him. "And this is Riley. Intern." Kurt waved at him. He said 'Hi,' while bouncing and smiling and scribbling on a clipboard without watching the path of his hand.

The third of the party introduced himself with the flash of a large-lensed camera directed at Kurt. He was a large but well proportioned man, like an athlete gone to seed.

"I'm Kurt Hummel." The photographer barked a laugh and the intern tittered nervously.

"I should hope so." He said, adjusting a circular pair of glasses.

"Of course you are. And we're your publicity team."

"You're my what?"

"Your publicity team."

"I heard you. I have a publicity team?"

"Yes, Mr. Hummel." It was clear that this conversation seemed to be wearing on Annie Cosgrove of the Morning Star.

"Call me Kurt." Annie ignored him, saying something quiet to Riley. There was another clack and a flash. "Why does this guy keep taking pictures of me?"

"Don't worry about it!" Riley chirruped.

"We need a statement from you." Annie said at the same time.

"Oh…. Kay."

"How has it been, working on Evita?" Annie asked, tilting her glasses downward.

"Fantastic. I never thought I'd get it- I'm honored." Annie made a sour face that Kurt interpreted as displeasure over a wrong answer.

"Who would you say is the most talented of the cast?"

"Rachel. She plays Eva. And the crew is really professional too- Kate has been grea-"

"Any backstage scandals?"

"No!"

"No one you dislike?"

"No."

"You know Blaine Anderson?"

"Yes."

"Have you found him to be…?"

"A beautiful person. And a commendable friend."

"What do you say to allegations that he sleeps around?"

The fast-paced, answer-with-the-first-thing-that-comes-to-mind-game that Annie seemed to play ground to a halt.

"I… I don't know. And I don't care."

"And the allegations he picked up a hooker?"

Kurt's throat closed.

Kate sneezed.

Kurt exhaled. _Thank you, Kate. _"What is your source for this information?"

Riley lifted up a piece of paper on the clipboard and said "Alex Kennon." At the same time as Annie said "That's private information." She glared at him, and he blushed as Kurt blanched.

Kate sneezed again.

_Wow, I gotta learn how she knows when to do that._

"I don't kn-know anything about that. But I'm sure it isn't true."

Annie nodded severely. Kurt thought fleetingly that Annie shouldn't be named Annie. She should be names something with less frippery. Like Joan. Or Marge. Or Dave.

"Are we done here?"

"I suppose. Check your email tomorrow at six." She turned and walked away. Riley smiled and waved enthusiastically, following her. The photographer took pictures of Kurt while walking backwards.

"But you don't have me e-mail…. Oh for Christ's-"

Kate hopped up onto the stage. She took his hand in both of hers.

"Who was it? The source?" She asked, and her voice was as soft and undemanding as he'd ever heard it. He almost immediately regretted calling her a bitch. And agreeing when Rachel said it.

"My boss." Kate's eyes flew open. "No, no, not like that. When I was a bartender. He owned the bar."

"And was he talking about you?" Kurt nodded mutely. "Why?"

"I came… pretty close."

"Oh."

"I've had a lot of time to reflect on it. And I just know I'm not… you know. But I lost quite a bit of respect. For myself." Kate nodded understandingly.

"Don't let it shake you. You can leave the past behind you. I'm told you already have a fan-site." Kurt gave a watery chuckle. "Come on. Let's go to lunch."

xXxXx

Kate helped him all that day, and the next one too- he was the only one he had who understood the anxiety about what was to come. When the time came, she sat him in the couch on the green room, opened up her laptop, put a soothing playlist on shuffle, and handed it to him. She locked the door so one could open from the inside as she left.

Kurt logged into his email account. Sure enough, the email on top was one from a Riley Mathers. The message read:

_Hi Kurt!_

_Here's the file! It's already been mailed to the printers! Should be on the stands by the end of the week! Hope you are excited! Call me if you have any questions!_

Kurt counted the exclamation points. Under the message was Riley's name, phone number, and his title as intern at The Morning Star. Kurt clicked the file.

It downloaded smoothly, and a window came up. He maximized it. It was a magazine, with pages one turned by clicking. He clicked to the table of contents, and two items caught his attention immediately. One was entitled "Chicago's Evita." The other was entitled "Anderson: A Reputation Re-established." He clicked to the first one.

He almost laughed aloud.

Two pages, adjacent to each other, had the title splayed over them. The page on the left had a picture of Kurt. He wore a plaintive expression, one leg dangling off the stage, the other bent at the knee and on the stage. His arm leaned on that knee and he stared into the lens. He had to give the photographer credit. His technique, if not efficient, was effective.

There was an article to the right of the picture, on the other page. He laughed at the length of it alone. He'd talked to his team for all of five minutes. But it was long, and boasted of Kurt's rise, his instant fame, how he was humble but held his head high, frank but funny, how he'd raved about his cast and crew and refused to listen to talk about petty scandal.

What they produced was astounding for what little they knew or had actually revealed. He felt like he should be offeded, feel exposed. But it rolled off his shoulders. There was nothing negative, anyway.

What didn't was what he saw in the second article.

Under the headline "Anderson: A Reputation Re-Established," was a caption.

_Despite several attempting smear his image, Blaine Anderson keeps his good-by image in tact without sacrificing sexiness._

And, under that, was a picture.

It was Blaine, of course.

Looking pleasantly surprised, but still managing to smolder.

And a dark-haired man, whose hand was over his, whose lips were at his ear.

"Hey Jonathan." Kurt whispered.

It was a happy, sensual moment for a sweet sexual couple. That took place, according to a footnote, after the Opening night show. Less than two hours after Blain had held him and comforted him. All of a sudden, the taste in Kurt's mouth was unbearable. He glanced at the article, and saw that his name was mentioned.

"_Colleague and friend, Kurt Hummel states that these rumours have no basis in fact. And it would seem that he is correct when seeing how in love Blaine looks with his man, Jonathan Ryker, this photo."_

Kurt looked at Blaine again, trying to read his eyes. There was pleasantness, surprise… and you would think Kurt could tell the difference between love and irritation, because according to the article he was getting it wrong, but it was an odd picture and Jesus, he didn't want to know anymore. He slammed the laptop closed. The music Kate put on continued.

'Yet, if he said he loved me,

I'd be lost, I'd be frightened.

I couldn't cope.

Just couldn't cope.'

"Really?" Kurt snarled and pulled the power cord. The music played on, and Kurt rolled his eyes at his own idiocy.

'I'd turn my head,

I'd back away.

I wouldn't him to know.

He scares me so. I want him so.

I l-'

The music stopped. Kurt exhaled. That was, in all ways, just creepy.

Kurt moved the laptop to the floor and lay down on the sofa, closing his eyes. His cell phone rang. He grumbled, and pulled it out of his pocket. He didn't _want_ a cell phone. He couldn't afford both it and the ipod, and music was priority. But Kate insisted and bought him a cheap flip one with two contacts. Her, and voicemail. He flipped it open, and held it to his ear.

"What, Kate?"

"It's Riley!" Oh. Well then.

"Wasn't I supposed to call you?"

"Yeah, but Annie wanted to see if you liked it." Kurt was silent he didn't believe it, not for a second. "…Okay, Okay, she wanted to know you wouldn't… ah… kick up a fuss." Yeah, that sounded right.

"Tell her not to worry."

"Wonderful!" Riley said. "I think it's really wonderful, you come across as this really reasonable, personable guy, even though you can look sort of haughty and in real life-" While Riley yammered, Kurt was struck with a thought.

"Riley."

"Yeah?" he stopped his sentence mid-stream to answer.

"Where did you get the Kennon source?" He asked, trying to keep his tone conversational.

"He called us, Kurt."

"Right. Thank you, Riley." He said. He disconnected after the cheery 'Anytime, boss!'

So, he hadn't been suspected and investigated. His boss was just a terrible human being.

Kurt rolled over, buried his face in the pleather.

He seemed to be breaking down a lot lately. A very small part of his Blaine blamed Blaine for putting him here. His life was simpler when he served cocktails. Made sense. But he couldn't pretend it was better.

It was better to know beauty and suffer the consequences than to never know beauty at all. If was a poem Kurt had read once. About a moth who explained to a human why he would slam himself into a light bulb, which would incinerate him.

It reminded Kurt of himself. How, ever since high school, he'd gone for the best performance, the most beautiful possibility and dealt with the consequences later. Consequences that proved capable of breaking him. But it was a truth that Kurt had always known on some level. And he couldn't regret what he'd gone through to be playing Che. He couldn't regret Blaine. Couldn't regret it at all.

Even if it led to his incineration.

xXxXx

Oh god, it's eleven at night and I've been typing since like… eight thirty. I write everything on paper before typing up, so typing is the real chore.

Here's a fun fact: The dressing room/intermission scene was supposed to be a sexual romp. But our boys were like "No. Fuck you. This needs to be addressed. We're cuddling.

So, blame them.

Thanks to all of you have alerted, favorite'd this story. Means a lot. As do reviews. Speaking of which….


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter V

Success Has Been So Easy For You

Blaine stared down at the picture his publicist had just slammed down. On closer inspection, it was actually a magazine, folded over so the picture was on top. He was, in the picture, looking directly into the camera, with Jonathan all over him. He sighed, and then looked up at Mark, who was pacing. The short, balding man, with a generally pleasant disposition, looked livid.

"You can't do that kind of thing!" He finally said, whipping off his glasses and pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Technically, I just stood there. That was all Jonathan." Blaine spoke in a tone that contradicted for itself, just to tease Mark.

_"That's not the point!" _Blaine stifled a yawn and began again.

"What did they say this time? Nympho? Bad boy? Deviant? F-?" All common terms that Blaine had come to know, but he was used to it by now.

"Not the point, not the point at all!" Blaine furrowed his brows, making a grab for the magazine- but Mark anticipated and got there first, nabbing it and pressing the article side to his chest. "The point is, the allegations against you keep getting more and more serious, and what you need is to find someone who knows what they are doing! Who understands- god, Blaine, the way you go about your personal life as if there weren't eyes everywhere!" Blaine swiveled about in his chair.

"I'm not going to live my life like I'm afraid of the Soviets. I was born in '82, for christ's sake." Mark gave him a withering look.

So apparently that was only funny to him. Ah well. Cold War humor was always hit or miss. No pun intended.

"Mark, give me the article." He had a tone that meant business.

"No." Blaine threw his hands up in the air.

"I'll fire you."

"No, you won't." Blaine rolled his eyes and lowered his hands.

"Yeah, you're right. C'mon, Mark." Looking as though he would regret this, Mark handed the article over. Blaine took it, and read it through, his lips twitching upward like he was trying to hide his laughter. He couldn't hide it as it shook his voice, though.

"Are you seriously yelling at me because they called me a… what was it? A good boy who doesn't sacrifice sexiness?" He let the guffaws go, his entire body moving with it. It was Mark's turn to throw his hands up, returning to his pacing.

"I knew… I _knew _you were going to take it like this." Mark was shaking his head while pacing, his hands gesturing vaguely.

"Take it like what? A compliment? I'm pretty sure that's what it is, man…" Laughter still threatened to escape, but Blaine held it down.

"When will you learn that it isn't what they say but what they _could_ say?" Blaine's eyes hardened.

"They could say those things no matter who I date, and I'm not going to have a girl whisper things in my ear, if that's what you're saying, because of what some people may or may not say." Mark plunked down in the chair on the other side of Blaine's desk.

"That's not at all what I was saying, Blaine. Calm yourself. The last way we want to swing this is that you're bi."

"I am not swinging this any way! No pun intended! Now what is this really about?" Mark took the article from Blaine and opened it up, laying it on the desk, pointing to a sentence.

"Yeah, the people at The Star have decided that you're fine, but the others… you've been accused of several things. Whoring around, picking up hookers, paying off Rachel Berry to keep quiet about something or the other…"

"I bought her fucking dance shoes! She needed them for the show!" Why did the press twist and turn everything every which way?

"- but the biggest rumor out there is that you" Dramatic pause. " Are in love." Blaine rolled his eyes.

"Jonathan and I are just friends with very specific benefits. He knows that, and I know that. We-"

"Not with Jonathan." Blaine's eyebrow twitched. "With someone else. Kate sees it. I see it. Even the dancers see it." Blaine raked his hands through his hair in agitation.

"Well, by all means, tell me who this mystery man is, since I seem to be the only one out of the loop!" Mark looked up at him, as if concerned for his mental health. Finally, he pursed his lips, and blew out a breath.

"Well. If you don't know, I can't help you. But you either have to let it go, or go for the fairy tale." Blaine gritted his teeth, but said nothing. "I just want you to be safe. We aren't as modern as we'd like to think we are, and when a man like you is so open-" Blaine shut his eyes and nodded once, which Mark knew meant 'I'm done, leave.' He heard the publicist sigh, and shuffle the magazine, and then put it down again. "I'm just watching out for you. And Blaine?"

"Mmm?" he grunted.

"I think you know." He heard his office door click shut. When he opened his eyes, he was alone, and the magazine was open to a picture of a man with pale skin and bright blue eyes.

He felt light headed.

xXxXx

Blaine stood outside the building for several minutes before going in- something that he realized belatedly that Mark would be angry about. His cheeks flushed when he went in, for the day was unseasonably cold for spring, the kind where everything seemed gray. He walked down the hall, and pressed the button that called the elevator, and rolled onto the balls of his feet and his heels alternatively, a nervous action. The elevator came, and he entered, pressing the fourth button. His stomach lurched along with the small car until it pinged with his arrival. He exited gratefully, and found the door labeled 4B. He knocked.

The door opened immediately, and a familiar hand folded over his, pulling him in, pulling him insistently into the bedroom. Blaine heard the door kick shut and let himself be pulled, and he once again found himself flat on his back, a beautiful man on top of him, being kissed hungrily.

How did he keep ending up like this?

Not that it was getting old, but damn, it always came in the wrong moment.

Blaine broke away, and kissed Jonathan's shoulder.

"Baby." Blaine felt his sigh on his neck, and Jonathan rolled onto his side. He rolled suit, so they faced each other. "We have to talk." Jonathan had eyes like grass moved by the wind. He felt, as he always had, the urge to kiss his lips, run his fingertips over the roughness of his 5 o'clock shadow. He wanted to taste him. But that was all he wanted. Jonathan smiled sadly at him.

"I know."

"You know?"

"I know everything you are going to say. I've known since I saw that stupid picture." Blaine's brow furrowed. "You want me, but you don't love me. And you may not believe in the fairy tale, but babe, you're so gallant. I knew it was only a matter of time before you realized we shouldn't be together. Because I don't belong in your life." Blaine wanted to deny it. Wanted it with everything he had. "Because I can never belong to you."

"I'm sorry." Blaine whispered. He hated how his voice sounded.

"I know. Me too." He smiled. "But there is a certain soprano out there who will never ever need to feel alone."

"He's a countertenor." Blaine said. And then he blushed.

"Heh. See. So, I figure, my good deed is done. And don't get that look on your face. I know what I'm talking about. Come here." He pulled Blaine close, and smiled, falling into their familiar pattern. Blaine wrapped a leg around his Jonathan's hips pressing every line of their bodies together, groaning at the contact. "But I figure I deserve a memorable goodbye." Blaine kissed him, and Jonathan sighed against his mouth. Blaine darted his tongue out, tasting his bottom lip, then pushing past it, licking into the cavern of his mouth, exploring his mouth as if it were new. His hands wandered down, fluttering to the hem of his tee shirt and pulling it up, up, using this opportunity to skate his hands over the plane of the other man's chest before pulling it off entirely, breaking the kiss only for a few seconds. He clung closer to him, reaching up to tangle his hands in Jonathan's hair, as Jonathan broke the kiss to drag his lips across Blaine's jaw, pressing hot kisses down, down to the column of his throat, finding a spot that made Blaine hum in delight and sucking gently at the skin until he moaned out right. Blaine used his grip on Jonathan's hair to bring him back to his lips. "Let me make you feel good. Please." Jonathan couldn't reply, which he took as a yes. He rolled him onto his stomach, and he kissed his shoulder blades, down his spine. He ran his fingertips over his ass and down his legs. He massaged his calves, pressing gently and then running his knuckles down the firm flesh, and then frowning. He reached up and tugged Jonathan's sweatpants off, so he could touch his skin as he moved up to the thighs, pushing the tension away in long, smooth strokes. He dragged his fingertips up over his ass, and dug his knuckles into the small of his back, skimmed his palms up, digging the heels of his hands in as he went. He found every kink in the other man's back and worked it gently until it was no longer existent.

He nudged Jonathan gently, a signal to roll over, which he obeyed. He followed the path of his hands with his mouth, touching him, kissing him everywhere, and tasting him until he keened in pleasure. And finally Blaine wrapped him in his arm and kissed him softly as he brought the other man to orgasm, and even afterwards, Jonathan messy with sweat and tears and come, Blaine held him, though he was still fully clothed, kissing him gently and trying very hard not to cry.

He had just been messing around. He had just tried to feel the passion that Jonathan wore on him like a color so that he could deny the facts: he had fallen in the kind of love that he would never let himself fall in, because love was destructive. And the subject of his love was a man who had been so broken that together, they might never make it. And that was why he'd drenched himself in Jonathan, with no strings attached. Because he was scared.

Blaine buried his face in Jonathan's neck. "I'm sorry." He whispered.

"You already said that." Jonathan said, his eyes closed.

"I am." He _was_ sorry, but more scared than he wanted to admit.

"Blaine. I forgive you. We all do it sometimes." Blaine hid harder, holding him tighter. "But you know what you have to do now, right?" Blaine nodded. It was time to be brave.

"I know. I know. Shame we can't keep on fucking. The sex was hot." Jonathan laughed outright.

"Smartass. My heart can't take it, that's why." Jonathan said with a smile.

"Your heart has never been a problem before." Jonathan shoved him away, and wrapped himself in the sheets, laughing and nuzzling into the pillow.

"Get out of my apartment, good boy who doesn't sacrifice sexiness." Blaine rolled his eyes, getting up.

"Will that article never stop coming back at me?" Blaine asked honestly, but also joking slightly.

"Doubt it." Blaine groaned.

xXxXx

Blaine sighed in frustration. He hated cocktail parties. He didn't see why he had to go. Well, that was a lie, he knew why he had to go, but that didn't make it any better. He wanted to go back to bed. He sat on said bed, staring at his closet. It looked like his closet had vomited. Violently. Suddenly, a familiar, hot anger kindled itself deep in his chest, threatening to choke him. He should be able to call his father. He should have someone to clap him on the shoulders, tell him everything was going to be fine.

There was a ding that told him that the elevator was here. He called out "C'mon in, Julian. Sorry about this." And he was- it was totally his fault, he had called for the car to come at- he checked his watch- quarter to eight. And Julian informed him when his car was here every time need be. He listened to the old man's steps, and looked up to see the ridiculously costumed bellman standing in the frame of his door. He started laughing aloud, because the sight must have been something to see. He was in a pair of black skinny jeans and black socks, sitting with his clothes strewn around him. Julian looked at him in awe. And then was moving. He went into the closet and came back out in under a minute.

"Up." Blaine obeyed mechanically. A pale gray button down was thrust into his hands, which he pulled on obediently. Then, the hobbled doorman pulled a black sweater vest over his head. He struggled to get his arms and head in their respective holes, and tucked his shirt in. Julian stepped back to inspect his work. The door man squinted and then, with a twist of his hand, took off his bow tie, and was slinging it around Blaine's neck. Blaine wasn't tall, but taller than Julian, so he had to stoop. It was tied in a quick motion.

"Take your contacts out and put your glasses on."

"Julian, I don't-" But Julian had turned away, presumably to look for shoes. Blaine had no choice but to obey, and he went over to the bureau, finding the plastic circles and unscrewing their caps. Blaine gingerly removed the contacts and then cursed. He'd forgotten to get his glasses first. He groped around for a bit, straining his eyes so that he could temporarily see until the glasses were place on his face by a wrinkled pair of hands. He felt like a nerd. His glasses weren't even cool- they were standard issue frames, black and oblong. Blaine pulled on his shoes and straightened up. Julian pointed at the mirror hanging on the closet door. He stepped before it.

Blaine thought he looked creepy.

He had time to only half-gel his hair his curls, they were nowhere near tamed as his standard dictated. The bow tie and sweater vest were flattering, certainly, but he felt mildly like a pedophiliac teacher. The glasses didn't help. And Julian was rolling his sleeves to the elbow, so that the teacher was making a desperate attempt at cool. Julian clapped him on the shoulder.

"You look great." Blaine chuckled. "Relax. I don't know why you are nervous for just another one of your hoity-toity parties, but just calm down. Okay? Get through it and get home at a decent hour." Julian used his leverage on Blaine's shoulder to steer him out of the bedroom, barely giving him time to grab his wallet and keys before getting into the elevator. Julian pushed the button labeled "L" and took his place in the corner of the lift.

"Thank you." Blaine said quietly.

"Don't mention it, sonny." Blaine grinned, and shook the elderly man's hand before stepping out of the elevator into the lobby. He turned around to wave as the doors slid closed, and he couldn't quite tell, but he thought Julian might be laughing.

He cut quickly across the gilded lobby and exited through the grand glass doors. A black car waited on the curb, and there was another doorman holding an umbrella over him and opening the door to the back seat with a white gloved hand. The car purred to life, and he thought about the men who helped make tonight happen. Mark, who had watched out for him, and pointed him in the right direction. Jonathan, who had been more kind and understanding than Blaine would have been, had the situation been reversed. And Julian, who had, for five minutes or so, became his father. And he felt the bitterness he harbored for the man who raised him melt a bit as the car passed smoothly under the rain speckled city lights.

xXxXx

Kurt had gone a little dramatic. Which surprised no one. Rachel had watched as he donned his evening wear- she admitted to herself that she'd never seen a man look sensual rather than uncomfortable in black leather pants.

But he'd kept it that way, which was what she thought was truly remarkable.

Kurt was practically floating on air, in fact. He was surrounded by compliments, people buying him drinks, flirting, offering parts and gigs. He turned down the alcohol every time, although warmly. He had seen what alcohol could do from his former job.

He was half the time on Kate's arm, being introduced and shaking hands, taking cards. He looked through them while leaning against the bar in a moment of peace. One said simply "Act Natural- we can get awkward later." And a web address. He shuddered.

"Now that's just creepy." Kurt jumped. "Easy there."

"Yep. Creepy as sneaking up behind someone and reading over their shoulder." He heard Blaine's laugh but refused to turn around, keeping his eyes focused on the card that was apparently coming on to him. Blaine noticed his quietness.

"Did I… Did I do something wrong?" Blaine sounded unsure of himself. Kurt turned around, the look on his face withering, and the astonished.

Blaine looked… indescribable. The black bowtie, the gray linen shirt, the sweater vest… to Kurt, he looked _good. _Proper. Like a teacher who everyone fell in love with, but, even though he could definitely teach you some things, but was too smart, noble, ethical… and Kurt wanted, in the most guttural way, to mess him up, to break all his morals and make his breath come short, skew his glasses and let him teach him a lesson.

"Kurt?"

"Oh, sorry. The glasses… they took me by surprise." He said, remembering he was annoyed at Blaine. He was pleased at how cool he managed to make his tone.

"You don't like them."

A tiny little part of him was screaming 'Actually, I love them, I want you to wear them as you watch me get on my knees…' That part of him was bound, gagged, and shoved into the recesses of his mind.

Blaine was a very difficult person to be angry with. When he looked like that especially. But just because he decided not to regret Blaine and what happened, it still stung- stung hotly and perhaps a little absurdly- that he had held him, comforted him, and then let his boyfriend nibble on his ear. He cringed.

"I'll take that as a no?" Blaine asked, eyebrows raised and furrowed in confusion. Kurt realized that instead of answering. He had stared at Blaine and then cringed. Oops. He recomposed.

"You don't have to worry about what I think, Blaine." Blaine looked stricken.

"Yes, I do." Blaine said, seeming bemused. "You are my best and most fashionable friend. What you think matters a great deal."

"Fascinating." Kurt said snippily, turning away.

"Kurt, stop." Blaine took his elbow gently, spinning him around. "At least give me a chance to defend myself."

"No, I don't think I will." Kurt snapped, tugging himself free. Blaine knew better than to grab him him again. Instead he leaned over, into Kurt's space to whisper in his ear, hand landing on his wrist. Kurt flinched, because it was that move that had gotten Kurt pissed in the first place.

"You could at least tell me in private. Please." Kurt pulled away and huffed 'fine' as he stalked toward the patio. It was a cool little bar with classic but edgy furniture, and a patio bar, where no one was at the moment, because, well, it was still raining. But that was where Blaine, to his chagrin, followed Kurt now. Kurt threw open the door and darted under an umbrella that was anchored to the patio deck. Blaine exhaled hard, and followed him. The circle of dry that the navy umbrella created was only about six feet in diameter, a tiny, humid bubble, and separate from the warm rain. Kurt paced in a circle. Blaine tried to follow, but ended up with his back pressed to the pole, spinning in a tight circle.

"So. Speak, if you have so much to say." Kurt snapped.

"I don't know _what _to say. I don't know why you're mad!" Blaine threw his palms skyward, verging on defensive instinctually.

"Then I can't help you." Blaine sighed, irritated. He saw that one coming.

"Well, in any case, I have to tell you. I broke up with Jonathan." Kurt stopped pacing, and then started up again.

"Because of the picture?" Kurt asked with his voice stronger than he thought it would be. Blaine hooked on to something in his voice, hearing something _scathing _in his voice. Well, that was unexpected.

"Is that what this is about?"

"That may or may not be part of it. Answer." Blaine threw up one hand.

"Well, it is part of it for my situation at least. But there is also the rumor floating around that I'm in love with someone else." Kurt whirled on him and pushed his bangs back with the opposite hand in a move so full of snark and sass, Blaine might've actually cowered.

"Listen. I do not want to hear about your flirtations with love, alright? Because I've been really fucking nice so far. I've sat and listened to you talk about your toy, and I've listened to you talk about men you've looked at, and I've listened to you say that everything ends and love isn't real and you'll never get close to anyone, all the while you're holding me and comforting me and I might think that it meant something if you weren't, an hour later, getting your ear lathed by your now suddenly ex-"

"You done?" Blaine's voice sounded strange, Kurt noted.

"No, you interrupted, actually."

"Because you didn't let me finish." The way Blaine said this- quiet but broiling with something that was almost anger, that was almost lust, and oh yes, the teacher thing was hitting him full force again and he shook his head, annoyed that Blaine angry could turn him on. He liked winning fights. He added that to the list of reasons he and Blaine shouldn't be together. "You see, I thought I could get over it… But everyone is telling me how good this man would be for me. That he can handle the spotlight, that his is even bigger than mine. That he loves me too. And sometimes, apparently, it's written all over my face that I'm thinking about him." Blaine took Kurt's hands, refusing to let him pull away, making sure he listened. "And why not? He's perfect, even though his past haunts him. You can see how broken he is, how sad his eyes get and you just want to kiss him until he smiles again, to make him yours and only yours until he's never hurt again." Blaine leaned in closer, his lips a hairs breadth from Kurt's. "Kurt." He said, quietly.

And Kurt kissed him.

Their first kiss wasn't perfect. Kurt was on top of him, and Blaine was trying not to reject him too quickly. But their second kiss was pretty damn close. Blaine's hand knotted at the material of the back of Kurt's shirt, and Kurt's arms lifted of their own accord, and for one second, all was peaceful, Kurt pulling them closer together.

And Blaine never needed to kiss anyone else, because this was like nothing he had ever felt before. Kurt's lips were soft but his kiss was fervent, revealing, giving. It was honest and open and Blaine suddenly felt his vulnerability, and knew without a doubt that he would learn every reason Kurt felt vulnerable and chase it away, because this was all he ever needed and-

Kurt bit him.

Bit down on Blaine's lower lip and not in a fuck-it-hurts-so-good way. More in a fuck-that-hurts way. Blaine's eyes flew open and he jerked back. But Kurt was already off and running, across the veranda, in the rain, into the back parking lot. Blaine dashed into the rain, starting after him. But someone grabbed his arm, reeling him back. Rachel was holding a black umbrella, and she was looking up at him in a worried yet earnest way.

"Don't. Wait for him to come to you. Don't give up." And with that enigma, a swish of dark hair and a click of her heels- she was chasing Kurt instead.

Blaine stood in the rain, silk bow tie getting ruined, hair dripping, glasses splattered and skewed, blood from the gash in his lip dripping down his chin. He felt incredibly stupid. He felt like screaming.

xXxXx

Hey guys!

So, I want to hear about what you guys think on that one. By the by, if you think my writing is now a whole lot less shitty, you can thank my lovely beta, redrosegal.

(Don't judge my smut writing by Jonathan, by the way. I just thought you wouldn't like much of Blaine with anyone but Kurt. It's normally longer. And more fun.)


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